The sleazy Buddha

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Hot is not the word in Laos. Sticky and sweaty definitely cover parts of the experience, which is similar to being slowly steamed. Like rice.

As the afternoon mellowed to a gentle broil, I wandered the peninsula formed by where the Mekong and Namkong rivers meet.

There are many civilised guesthouses along the Namkong, with dining terraces and bars full of gleaming bottles. There are several bridges too. The most egregious violator of basic engineering requires a 5,000 kip levy to use it.

The Namkong is quiet and greenly peaceful. On the road back into town I pass Phousi Hill, topped with a wat from which there are panoramic views of Luang Prabang and the mountains surrounding it. I find back streets where there are no white faces, only crumbling dwellings, Laotions cooking and stray dogs.

Hitting the night market, I run into a German couple from the Mekong boat. Well, one is German, the other is Spanish but says he got 'stuck' in Munich. The other one is not impressed with this, though it seems he is used to it. I talk to them about the life they have 'joyfully chosen' in Bavaria, which at least has nice scenery. We have a lively conversation and I am sad to learn that they are leaving the next morning because they have jobs to return to.

Alas, my evening has peaked.

While hunting a birthday gift Martin finds me. He just hangs around. complaining that the BBC coverage of the Bangkok protests didn't celebrate democracy enough. I think he is talking complete rubbish. (Nigel later tells me he thinks Martin has Asperger's syndrome because he's so socially inept).

Because I'm polite I find myself in the bar with cheap beer drinking soda water with him. He's going on about robots liberating the world and how if he learnt computer programming he'd be the best programmer in the world. He reminds me that he is the living Buddha and that people come to him to hear the truth, but they don't like it.

I don't like having to hear all this again. So I orchestrate an argument about whether robots could perform in Michelin star restaurants.

'Do you have a high sex drive?' he then asks me apropos of nothing.

'Not in this heat,' I replied, which seemed as good a response as any.

'I am attracted to you,' he continues. 'Are you surprised?'

I didn't even think he liked me, but this is hormones, not companionship.

'Well, I'm a bit swollen,' I venture.

'Yes,' murmurs Martin, staring at my breasts.

I'd rather poke my eyes out with a blunt stick than have sex with Martin, but being polite I say I don't think this course of action would please Claudia, for whom he is supposedly waiting.

'She doesn't need to know,' he says. 'You are just suffering from conditioning to be needy. Let's enjoy the moment and our bodies. We can go down to the river.'

Alternatively, he says we can get a guesthouse room with aircon for $10 (I'd be paying half). He doesn't believe in buying things for women; he tells me that if he met a poverty-stricken Asian woman he would never buy her anything, but he 'would go down to her level and help her to grow'.

Perhaps he thinks he can help me to grow, but I prefer to stay stunted. Grappling with him among the soggy weeds by the water is about as appealing as tap dancing through a field full of landmines. He wants to walk me back to the guest house but I say no. As a farewell, I stick out my hand to shake his. He tells me to relax.

When I see Ellie later I tell her about this unsavoury episode and it turns out he has propositioned her too.

That's it. I really don't like him now.

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